Thomson

It’s a heck of a way to run a pre-election campaign. On the eve of an expected election, politicians usually spend their time playing up good news, downplaying the bad, shaking hands and kissing babies.

Long trip to Hawaii well worth it

Waves crash against rocks at Akoakoa Point on the Big Island of Hawaii.

Photograph by: Bill Robertson
, for the Saskatoon StarPhoenix

One day more than 30 years ago, my father came home to supper with a grim look on his face. At coffee that afternoon he'd heard that nine couples from our small town had met for drinks at a lounge on Waikiki Beach. They felt this was the highlight of their trip.

My father thought going halfway across the Pacific for a holiday only to end up hanging out with the same people from back home was ridiculous. And so a Hawaiian vacation became something of a topic to be avoided in our home -- a hellish oxymoron where you took your troubles to paradise.

Now, 35 years later, I was forced to confront an old prejudice when planning a trip to Australia. Sure, my wife and I could fly 17 hours straight from Vancouver to Sydney, or we could break up the trip with stops in Hawaii, as many experienced travellers insisted we do.

Just like most prejudices I picked up as a child from my father, my fears were silly and largely baseless. We wouldn't be travelling with a group or to meet a group. In fact, on the way out we wouldn't even be going to the usual tourist destinations, at all.

Through a combination of amazing circumstance on her part and great luck on ours, an old Saskatchewan friend now lives in Hawaii, or what is called the Big Island. She had been asking us to visit, so we came, flying through Denver to Kailua-Kona, then making the hour's drive north along the west coast to their town of Hawi.

They live on seven acres on the north side of town amid other parcels of similar size. Besides running a business out of his house, Laura's husband also keeps a few cows and some chickens; and the neighbours have horses, goats and sheep, as well. To a boy from the Prairies, the sight of cattle grazing beneath palms and among citrus trees is a bit of a jolt. Bright red cardinals, saffron warblers and olive-green Japanese white-eyes calling from fences and trees only enhanced the clash of the exotic with the ordinary.

But then, as Laura explained on a drive "over the mountain" to the city of Waimea (not to be confused with the surfer's mecca on the north shore of O'ahu), this area of the Big Island has long been home to an imported cowboy culture.

As we drove up and inland, through shortgrass pasture and cacti in yet another of the island's 22 ecosystems, she told us that early settlers discovered an environment ideal for ranching, so they brought in cattle and started training locals as cowboys.

Waimea, nestled at the foot of the Kohala Mountains, celebrates its cowboy heritage in statues, western stores and such venues as the Parker Ranch Museum, none of it the sort of thing I ever envisioned when I thought of the Hawaiian Islands. Indeed, a short visit was enough for me and I wanted to get back within sight of the ocean.

No problem. We could see the water from either Laura's place, or Hawi and the walk between. Hawi is a laid-back little place where, on a Sunday, locals gather in front of the coffee shop to grab a beverage and sit out front, listening to a couple of guys blow jazz on soprano sax and guitar. We found a great place for lunch called Sushi Rock and the namesake was fresh and imaginatively presented.

A short drive east from Hawi along the north shore of the island we stopped at Kauhola Point and then Akoakoa Point, watching the ocean crash against the rocks below as we listened for birdsong, and in between at Keokea Beach Park, where we threw our leis into the water, thereby ensuring -- according to local legend -- that we would return to the islands.

The promise came true three weeks later when we flew into Honolulu from Sydney, wending our long way home. But now, tired from nearly a month of living out of a suitcase and from this most recent, 10-hour turbulence-fest from Down Under, the thought of three days on the most famous beach in the world did not thrill me. Living the easy-going life of a pineapple cowboy on the Big Island was one thing, but hitting Waikiki Beach just as university students had completed exams was another.

We had booked online into the Miramar Hotel, a smaller place amid the Hiltons and Hyatts, just a block off the beach. At $89 US a night I could probably stand to get over some of my jet lag, anyway. After our overnight flight, we were let into our room at noon where a shower and change of clothes helped improve my attitude to hot-weather fun.

My anxiety over crowds melted away as I discarded my sandals and waded in the Pacific, laughing as all manner of surfers, children and guys like me practised on their rented boards. I paused to brush the sand from my feet, leaning on the statue of the great athlete Duke Kahanamoku, a hero of Hawaii who took surfing to the rest of the world and eventually served 13 terms as sheriff of Waikiki. Now I'm in countless pictures, bending over to put on my sandals, as Duke and his surfboard are a must-have for all photogs.

We rushed across busy Kalakaua Avenue to a hole-in-the-wall place called Furusato Sushi Bar. There were three chefs plying their trade, and we took a small table for two where we could watch the sun go down.

If we'd had more time in Waikiki, I would have liked to take an Oahu Nature Tour out to the North Shore. Justly famous for its surfing -- see the documentary Riding Giants -- the North Shore is also renowned for its birds, turtles and archeological sites. Alas, it was an all-day trip. So, like most North Americans when faced with such a dilemma, we went shopping.

The Miramar's back door opens onto the International Market, a colourful warren of little shops selling cheap T-shirts (mostly to do with drinking, surfing and Obama), loud Hawaiian shirts (of course I bought one), postcards, bags of seashells, silver jewelry and tattoos. I'm not sure where the International in its name comes from, but the place was lively and fun and almost impossible to escape.

But we did. And in our remaining day-and-a-half, we managed a meal up in the Kaimuki district at a place called the 12th Avenue Grill. It was nice to get out of the bustle of Waikiki for a few hours and see the city at night and from a few different elevations.

In the morning, we walked past the zoo but didn't go in. It was hot and we walked beneath the palms, doing a mild bake before donning our swimsuits and getting into the water, hats and sunglasses still attached.

Rolling about with the gentle tumble of the waves, beach bunnies and surfers frolicking about us, children laughing and shrieking at water's edge, I couldn't articulate to myself what it was about Hawaii I'd felt the need to avoid. I hadn't done or seen a fraction of all there was to do and see on these islands, having been lucky enough to see only two sides of their many lives, but I knew it would be easy to come back. We'd have to get out of the water, spray off and go pack, but for now we just smiled and let the water carry us. Waikiki Beach is a perfect place to enjoy the Pacific Ocean.

IF YOU GO

- Getting to the Hawaiian Islands is easy. Just about everyone you know has been there and they all have recommendations on what way to fly and where to stay. Listen to them.

- Take down names. Then go online and book your flight(s), your hotel, even your tours, if you want. I favour being on the ground before I do the latter.

- If booking online seems scary, contact a travel agent. Or get your kids to help you. Once I had booked the Miramar (on the advice of a friend), I phoned (they're four hours behind) and asked about early check-in and things like that. With the slow economy, you'll find that the tour people will come to you to offer their services.